


Cursed

by redundant_angel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Churches & Cathedrals, Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Memory Loss, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Priests, Vampire Bites, Vampire Crowley (Good Omens), Vampires, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redundant_angel/pseuds/redundant_angel
Summary: Aziraphale has been sent on assignment by Heaven to investigate some rather suspicious disappearances in the medieval village of Windermere, where rumors are flying that a vampire by the name of Lord Crowley resides in a nearby castle.Disguised as a priest, Aziraphale decides to pay Crowley a visit but he quickly learns that there is much more at stake (ha) than he bargained for...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 76
Collections: Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween, Trick-Or-Treat!





	1. Chapter 1

_Romania, sometime during the 15th century._

Dressed in the long black robes of a priest, Aziraphale wandered through the deserted village of Windermere. He hadn’t seen a single soul since he’d arrived... each and every window was shuttered and boarded up, makeshift crosses were nailed to the alcove above every doorway, and there were no markets open, or livestock to be seen. It was eerily quiet.

When he finally reached the village’s decrepit old church, Aziraphale dusted himself off and heaved open the thick wooden doors. 

“Hello?” the angel called out in a hopeful tone as he wandered inside. “Is anyone here?”

There was no reply. 

He made his way into the nave of the church, the heavy door slamming shut loudly behind him. Much like the rest of the village, the church appeared to be abandoned. Rubble was strewn all across the floor, several ornate glass-stained windows were all but destroyed and many wooden pews were cracked and broken. To Aziraphale’s left stood an ornate stone basin, one which would typically be filled with holy water. It was empty. 

Dismayed to see a church in such a state of disarray, Aziraphale began to tidy up, subtly using minor miracles to help clean up the mess as he walked up the church’s centre aisle. An very large overturned book lay at his feet and he paused to pick it up, dusting off the book’s golden cover. It was a Gutenberg Bible, he realized immediately, one of the very first to be mass printed. He fawned over the book for a moment before dutifully returning it to its rightful place, at the altar, where a large immaculately carved cross stood proudly on the wall, miraculously still intact.

That's when Aziraphale heard the footsteps, so soft they were almost imperceptible. He turned to find a middle-aged man in a dark cassock hiding in one of the wings. The man had deep bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He squinted at Aziraphale as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, eyeing Aziraphale with suspicion. 

Aziraphale straightened, recalling quickly the role he was supposed to play as this assignment. He was a horrible actor, but pretending to be a priest seemed easy enough to pull off. “I am Father Aziraphale, from the nearby village of Bromwell. It is my understanding that there are some… peculiar events happening here in Windermere. Perhaps I could lend some assistance?” 

The other man seemed to relax slightly. "I am Father Dayton. Welcome to Windermere. Or, what’s left of it. I fear your arrival has come too late."

Aziraphale glanced about the room. “Perhaps you could start by explaining the poor state of this establishment?”

The man sighed. "As you can see, we’ve been raided. Thieves, vandals… people looking cash in on the misfortune which has befallen our village.”

"And Windermere Castle has offered you no protection?" Aziraphale asked, shocked. 

The priest chuckled darkly.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. "What?"

“You would not believe me if I told you.”

“I assure you Father, I have certainly seen my share of inexplicable things over the years."

Father Dayton considered this for a moment. He plucked a torch from a nearby wall and walked towards the back of the altar, beckoning for Aziraphale to follow. “We should not speak of this out in the open," he whispered. "Come with me."

Aziraphale hesitated but did as he was asked, following Father Dayton through a small door and onto a winding staircase which disappeared into the darkness. 

As they descended, the air became stale and the walls damp. It smelled of rot and mud and Aziraphale found himself becoming increasingly unsettled. Although they were inside a church, this didn’t feel like a place even an angel wanted to be.

Eventually, the stairwell opened into a dark passageway where an ominous iron door loomed. Father Dayton slipped a keychain from his robes and selected the oldest looking iron key from the bunch. He unlocked the door, and slipped inside. Aziraphale followed. The room was pitch black, save for the torch in Father Dayton’s hands, which he used to light an ancient sconce on the gritty stone wall. 

“Good lord,” Aziraphale exclaimed, as light finally spilled across the expanse.

The walls were lined with weaponry of every conceivable kind: swords, daggers, lances, spears, axes, a mace and even a few ominous-looking crossbows. It was as if an entire armory was hidden inside the church basement. Father Dayton swept a finger through the dust which coated the shaft of a jewel adorned sword. 

“These weapons came from the stores of Windermere Castle. They were stockpiled here years ago, in case we ever needed our own protection against…well it does not matter now. Most of these weapons would be useless against _him_."

Aziraphale squinted. "Who?"

Father Dayton began to tremble. “I dare not speak his name.”

The angel laid a hand on the terrified man’s shoulder to try to comfort him. “It’s quite alright, Father, I assure you. We are in a house of God. Hell has no power here.”

The priest nodded, although did not seem fully convinced. He swallowed and made the sign of the cross over his chest. 

“Lord Crowley.”

* * *

“A vampire is terrorizing a village called Windermere,” the archangel Gabriel stated in a bored tone. He looked as though he would rather be doing nearly anything else than having this conversation.

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Now, I realize these sort of supernatural occurrences are technically not within our department’s mandate,” Gabriel continued, sounding thoroughly disinterested, “but I have it on… ahem… good authority that the matter somehow involves the demon Crowley.”

Aziraphale had been called up to head office for a one-on-one chat with Gabriel, which was a rare occurrence indeed, but to hear Crowley’s name mentioned was even more worrisome. There was the Arrangement to worry about, after all. He tried to suppress the apprehensiveness he was certain was written all over his face. “Crowley is involved? I mean… of course he is. Evil fiend.”

Gabriel didn’t seem to notice Aziraphale’s flustered response. “People have been disappearing from the village for a while now, and I think it would be best if we got to the bottom of it before, well… I’m sure you know how rumors can get out of hand?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Rumors?”

Gabriel smirked. “Well obviously they are just rumors, Aziraphale. There is no such thing as vampires. And if there is, well, you can be sure of who is behind it.” He pointed downwards.

“I see.” Aziraphale replied. He pursed his lips. “And if it _is_ indeed a vampire?”

Gabriel made a motion with his hand as though he were stabbing an invisible enemy. “Wooden stake through the heart. Come on, I thought that was common knowledge?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t tell if Gabriel was being serious or if he was joking. He decided it was probably the former. “Right, well, I’ll uh, leave immediately then,” he said, feigning enthusiasm. 

“Good man,” Gabriel grinned, clapping Aziraphale hard on the back. “And who knows… maybe it's just a run-of-the-mill psychopath, and there's nothing to worry about.” 

* * *

Aziraphale, who had been leaning against a wall, flinched at hearing Crowley’s name and caused several swords to tumble down and clatter to the floor. “I’m terribly sorry,” he mumbled to Father Dayton, bending to gingerly collect the fallen weaponry. “ _Lord_ Crowley?”

“A man of noble rank who mysteriously arrived at Windermere Castle several years ago. Since the day he arrived, things have consistently worsened for everyone who lives here.”

“I see,” said Aziraphale, entirely unsurprised by any of this. He wondered why Gabriel hadn't sent him to Windermere sooner.

“The village began to slide into disarray,” continued Father Dayton. "Taxes increased ten-fold and almost all funds to the church were discontinued. This went on for years, but things really took a turn for the worse a few weeks ago. People began to disappear, one by one. Rumors began to spread that Lord Crowley was holding them prisoner, as anyone who visited the castle seemed to vanish as well. Eventually, even the members of my clergy began to vanish, one by one, never to be seen again." The priest frowned. "I had long had my suspicions about Lord Crowley… that he was involved in some sort of witchcraft, so, I finally decided to visit the castle myself and confront him.”

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "And what happened?"

Father Dayton’s face grew pale and his hands began to tremble. “Upon my arrival to the castle, I was admitted through the front entrance immediately. It was almost as though he were expecting me. I could sense something was amiss right away. Not only was it dark and bitterly cold within those walls, but I could not shake the feeling that someone was watching me." 

"I pulled my rosary from beneath my cassock, putting my faith in the Lord to keep me safe. I should have turned back then, but I was determined to end this madness plaguing Windermere once and for all." 

Aziraphale leaned closer. He did enjoy a good story every once and awhile, and he found himself eager to hear this one. 

Fear crept behind the priest's eyes as he spoke. "The doors to the grand banquet hall were open just a crack, and I could see the light of a fire flickering from within. I made my way into the room and....” 

Father Dayton paused.

“Please go on,” Aziraphale whispered, now hanging off the man’s every word.

The priest shot him a pointed look. “I saw Lord Crowley. He was seated alone at the far end of a long table, a goblet of wine in his hand, and there was something about his eyes... I can't quite remember now, but I swear they were burning right into my soul. I knew then what I was dealing with was the Devil’s work!”

Aziraphale tried not to roll his eyes. This was indeed the Devil’s work, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Father Dayton.

“He beckoned me to come closer," Father Dayton continued at a whisper. "I could feel myself falling under some kind of spell. I had the most powerful urge to walk forward, towards him, but I knew if I did, I would never leave the castle alive."

The priest took a shuddering breath. "So, I removed the vial of holy water I kept in my pocket and opened the cork."

Aziraphale bristled. "You had holy water?"

"Yes, but I did not get the chance to use it. Instead, I held out my rosary and backed slowly out of the room. As soon as I was free, I ran.” He seemed to be staring off into the distance, at some invisible horror. “I know what I saw, Father Aziraphale. It was, was without any doubt, a vampire.”

Aziraphale straightened. Not only was Crowley responsible for these rumors about vampires but it seemed he had nearly got himself killed. A stern talking-to was definitely in order, and the demon was lucky Gabriel was sending _him_ to deal with it and not someone else.

“Thank you for relaying this story to me, Father,” the angel said softly. “Not to worry. I will go and have a word with this… _Lord_ Crowley _._ ”

Father Dayton grabbed Aziraphale by the arm. “You mustn't!” he stammered. “It is far too dangerous!”

Aziraphale smiled kindly. “I appreciate your concern, Father, but I assure you, there is no need to worry. I’ve dealt with matters like these before.”

The priest’s lips parted in surprise. “You are experienced in hunting vampires?”

“Oh, well, no, but I may know a thing or two about demons.”

The priest shook his head. “You cannot go unprepared, it would be madness.” He shoved a tiny vial of holy water into Aziraphale’s unwitting hands.

Aziraphale cringed. Even though Crowley was a demon, and they were technically hereditary enemies, Aziraphale had no intention of harming him. Not only did they have the Arrangement together, but Aziraphale _liked_ Crowley, although would never admit it out loud. He rather enjoyed Crowley’s playful remarks and his clever scheming and the way he seemed to care about the humans, far more than any demon had business doing so. And the way Crowley would look at him with those beautiful golden eyes, as though he considered Aziraphale to be the most enchanting thing he'd ever laid eyes upon...

Aziraphale pressed the vial back into Father Dayton’s hand. “You should keep this. I've got my own,” he lied.

Father Dayton nodded. "There is one other thing here that might help you." He picked up a crossbow from the corner of the room and handed it to Aziraphale. "It is loaded with wooden arrows. If you pierce a vampire's heart with wood, it will die."

“So I've heard,” Aziraphale replied, accepting the crossbow gingerly. It was heavy and awkward, and he nearly dropped it. 

Aziraphale smiled reassuringly at Father Dayton, hoping to convince the poor man that he wasn’t afraid. Which he wasn’t. Or at least, he shouldn’t have been. He was an angel, after all, and there was no such thing as vampires. Only demons, ones who had clearly taken their job description a little too seriously. 

Father Dayton did not smile back. 

As he left the church and headed out into the evening air, Aziraphale heard the priest whispering a small prayer behind him. He could only make out the last bit, but he heard that part quite clearly:

“May God have mercy on your soul.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!!! This chapter gets a lot darker, and more horror than spoopy, so just a warning. Vampires doing vampire things.

As soon as he was outside the church walls and away from the overly-dramatic priest, Aziraphale hurried into the small graveyard that lay around the corner. Satisfied no one was watching, he abandoned the crossbow Father Dayton had bestowed him behind an overgrown yew shrub. 

“Ridiculous contraption,” the angel muttered, wiping away the thick dust that now coated his hands. Humans were always coming up with the most violent ways to dispatch one another and Aziraphale, who wanted nothing to do with such things, wasn’t about to lug the weapon around for show. 

In any case, Aziraphale had always found the most effective way to reason with Crowley was to invite him out for a bite to eat or a bottle of wine, not to threaten him with discorporation. Crowley rarely turned such an invitation down, even though the demon took little interest in the food itself, and Aziraphale supposed it was because Crowley delighted the conversation. What was a little = friendly sparring back and forth between two hereditary enemies? 

Knowing that Crowley enjoyed his company and would be happy to see him made everything seem a little easier. Still, Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. He could understand how Father Dayton might have mistaken Crowley for a vampire, what with the demon’s serpentine yellow eyes and his aversion to holy objects. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to see how such a mistake could be made, and it might almost be humorous except for the fact that there were real people disappearing from the village. He was about to leave when Gabriel’s condescending voice echoed in his mind. 

_“Wooden Stake through the heart. Come on, I thought that was common knowledge...”_

Aziraphale sighed. While he wasn’t afraid of Crowley _,_ if there were any hellish monsters wandering around the castle, it was probably best to be prepared. He emptied the barrel onto the grass and pocketed one of the sharp wooden arrows, just in case. Then, feeling a bit silly, he removed his rosary from around his neck and stuffed that into his pocket too. With any luck, he wouldn’t need either. 

Dusk fell as Aziraphale made his way up the hill and down the long road towards Windemere Castle. A thick fog was forming over the wet ground, and a cold chill was seeping through Aziraphale’s robes and into his skin. No one stopped him on his journey through the front gate, nor when he finally reached the main entrance, squeezing through the massive front door without any difficulty. Had the castle been occupied, Aziraphale would have undoubtedly found himself surrounded by dozens of guards by now, but the building was, just as the priest had described, deserted. 

Torchlit sconces lined the passageway in a single direction, acting almost like an arrow and encouraging any visitor to follow, should they find themselves brave enough. Aziraphale followed them until he eventually found himself in what he assumed was once the castle's great hall. Lords and Ladies would have once dined here, thrown lavish parties, and danced the night away. Now the room stood empty and forgotten. An echo chamber for the heavy silence which filled the air. 

And no Crowley.

If Crowley _was_ here, Aziraphale thought, he should have been able to sense the demon’s presence by now. He could always sense it when Crowley was near. Yet, Aziraphale could feel nothing… nothing besides a disturbing sensation that he was being watched. There was gooseflesh all over his arms.

“Bodies,” the angel chastised his own corporation. “Always overreacting to the slightest of things.” 

Aziraphale kept searching, following the lit sconces and exploring the castle room by room and until he reached what, he assumed was at one point, was the royal bedchamber of some long departed king or queen. While the other rooms in the castle appeared to have fallen into ruin, this one was different. 

It was warm and welcoming, and beautifully furnished with the most elegant of décor. A large four-post bed stood proudly in the middle of the room and was in pristine condition, as though it had been held in time. Even more interesting was the roaring fire which crackled in the fireplace. Someone must have been staying here.

Aziraphale cautiously entered the bedchamber, moving slowly about the room, just in case he ended up disturbing some poor human. There didn’t appear to be anyone around, but the goosebumps had returned and this time, Aziraphale felt another sensation which he couldn’t quite parse. He’d never felt this way before. It was unnerving. He was so focused on the strange sensation that he nearly missed the lithe figure standing motionless in the corner of the room. 

The figure was dressed in a long black robe, belted at the waist with a low-slung silver chain; the face was partially obscured by darkness. Aziraphale could only make out the harsh line of a mouth and a twist of long auburn hair, but he recognized those features immediately.

“Crowley?" 

The figure didn’t reply.

“You can come out now. I know it’s you.”

The demon stepped out from the shadows and Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat. Crowley was unspeakably beautiful. Although he would never admit it, he had always found Crowley attractive, right from the first time he’d laid eyes on the demon in Eden. Now, Aziraphale wondered how he’d ever managed to look at Crowley without stripping himself naked, falling to his knees and begging the demon to take him right then and there. 

He watched, breathless still, as Crowley drew closer, inch by inch, his movement almost imperceptible. Aziraphale found himself lost in Crowley’s eyes; endlessly deep spheres with dark opaque slits for pupils. They were no longer yellow, but a dark, haunting shade of red. The eyes raked across Aziraphale’s body before stopping to hover at his neckline.

“Another priest.” Crowley looked amused. “Your lot must be either very brave or very stupid.”

It took a great deal of willpower, but Aziraphale managed to drag his mind out of whatever foggy haze it had been temporarily lost in. “I’m sorry… what did you say?”

Crowley smirked. “What is your name, priest? You seem to know mine already.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, bothered that Crowley would even pretend not to know who he was. “It’s me. Aziraphale! And I’m not a priest.”

“ _Ah-zira-phale_ ,” Crowley mused, exaggerating the sibilant sound of the name on his tongue. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

“Hmm. I’ve only had it for the last few thousand years. Anyway, you can stop this ruse now, Crowley. You’re not fooling anyone.” Forcing himself to suppress the anxiety he was feeling, and whatever that other odd sensation was that seemed to be nagging at him, Aziraphale turned on his heel and settled into one of the plush chairs across from the fireplace, ushering for Crowley to join him. 

Crowley didn’t budge.

“Stand there if you like. Or you can join me.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Either way, I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”

Something that he’d said must have amused Crowley, because he smiled, although there was no warmth to it. He followed Aziraphale over to the fireplace and slipped effortlessly into the empty chair, sprawling across it sideways. “I’m listening.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Crowley. I’m aware of numerous mysterious disappearances in this village. The local priest... and some of the higher-ups mind you… are convinced that all of this is your evil doing.” 

He waited, hoping Crowley would interject, deny any involvement as he always did, but Crowley just kept looking at him with those mesmerizing red eyes. Aziraphale sighed. “Honestly, you should hear some of the ridiculous rumors that are spreading about the land.” 

“Really?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“I think you well know,” Aziraphale scoffed.

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“That this castle is occupied by a monster. Specifically... a vampire.”

“And you don’t believe it.”

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley,” Aziraphale snapped, crossing his arms in defiance. “You might have been able to swindle every man, woman, and child in this village but you can’t fool me! What exactly is your plan, hmm? You’ve done a masterful job of frightening everyone off already. Windermere is all but deserted. In fact, you’ve created such a stir that Gabriel has sent _me_ to deal with it!”

Crowley shifted, leaning forward in his chair. He studied Aziraphale for a moment. “So you’re here to try and kill me then? To scourge me from the earth?”

Aziraphale balked. “What? No! It is against my nature to kill. You know that.”

“Even if what you’re killing is evil itself?"

“I-”

Crowley snickered at his indecisiveness. “Right. Well then, _Aziraphale_. If you aren’t here to kill me, why don’t we move on from the small talk and get straight to the main event.” 

“Yes, why don’t we,” Aziraphale grumbled. He didn’t appreciate Crowley’s snarky attitude and his frustration with him was beginning to boil over. Straightening his robes, the angel fixed Crowley with a stern look. “In exchange for _my_ leniency, _demon_ , you will stop this ridiculous charade. You will set free all of the missing villagers and you will move on from this place forever. Is that understood?”

Crowley snorted. “That won’t be possible.”

“And why not?” 

“They’re all dead.” 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“They’re dead,” Crowley repeated flatly. “I killed them.”

The floor seemed to tilt under Aziraphale’s feet. In what twisted reality could those words possibly be true? Crowley was a demon, there was no denying that, but he was not a killer. Never. Their meetings across the centuries had been sporadic, but Aziraphale knew Crowley- knew him better than he’d ever known anyone. “I don’t understand...” Aziraphale whispered. “Why are you saying this?”

“I never asked to be a vampire,” Crowley shrugged, staring off into the distance, his predatory features illuminated by the flickering firelight. “I didn’t mean to kill them, but I always end up taking too much in the end.”

Aziraphale gripped the armrest of his chair so hard that the wood began to splinter. “You don’t actually expect me to believe this! Vampires are a myth. They do not exist, and you are most certainly not one of them!”

Those red eyes flicked upward to stare at him once again, and Aziraphale couldn’t shake the feeling that he was prey being hunted. With liquid elegance, Crowley climbed to his feet and closed the space between them in two steps. “Would you prefer it if I lied to you?” he whispered sweetly to Aziraphale. “I can, if you want me to.”

Aziraphale met his gaze. “What I want, Crowley, is for you to stop playing games.”

“Very well.” 

Crowley bent, resting his hands on the armrests and effectively boxing Aziraphale into his chair. He leaned forward until his sharp mouth was just inches away and Aziraphale could plainly see his fangs. They were curved and slender, ending in needle-sharp points. The angel flinched.

“Here you are... alone in my bedchamber,” Crowley purred. “The only choice you have is to submit to my desires. All of them.” 

Aziraphale froze. His mouth had gone completely dry and he could practically hear his own heart hammering away in his chest. That odd sensation that had gripped him since the moment he’d walked into the castle; that mix of fear and, something else... excitement, perhaps? It had caught him by surprise, held on, and now it refused to let go. He had never felt fearful around Crowley before, yet now every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run. 

Crimson eyes locked onto his own and suddenly Aziraphale felt his body relax, his mind drifting away as any lingering fear subsided; his heartbeat returning to a steady rhythm. He was well aware that all he needed to do was snap his fingers and he could miracle himself away from this place and away from the clear and imminent threat that stood just inches away. He knew he should have listened to that nagging feeling earlier. Now, it was far too late. Whatever hold Crowley had on him was so strong that after a few seconds he could hardly remember what it was he was supposed to be afraid of. 

Instead, his entire body seemed to be thrumming with need in response to Crowley’s proximity, and Aziraphale realized his cock was hardening beneath his cassock. He sucked in a quick breath; his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, jolting him from his trance. 

Crowley caught sight of the bulge beneath Aziraphale’s robes and grinned. “Perhaps I can sate your curiosity as well, priessst...” 

“I told you,” Aziraphale whispered, his fingers slipping into his pocket and tightening around the object inside, “I’m _not_ a priest.”

“In that case,” said Crowley, “you won’t have any objection to what I’m about to do...”

With a burst of determination, Aziraphale reached up and pressed the silver cross of his rosary fast against Crowley’s cheek. The demon hissed and stumbled backwards in agony. Aziraphale didn’t waste a second. He bolted for the door and dashed into the hallway, his edges of his mind fuzzy as though he’d just been woken from a dream. He turned a corner, noticed an open door and all but flung himself inside. 

The darkened room was cluttered, and judging by the manner of oddities lining the shelves, perhaps once belonging to an alchemist. Aziraphale ducked beneath a table. It was a miserable hiding spot, but it didn’t matter… he only needed to stay hidden long enough to perform a miracle to change Crowley back. Obviously something had happened to the demon that was beyond his control… there was no other explanation. Crowley would never act this way. He would never kill innocent people, or try to hurt him. Something was horribly wrong.

Eyes slammed shut, Aziraphale took a steadying breath and tried to concentrate. He still couldn’t sense Crowley, which was now more disturbing than ever. Nevertheless, he conceptualized what he wanted to do, and willed it into being, as he did every miracle.

Without warning, a hand closed around Aziraphale’s throat. Aziraphale yelped as Crowley dragged him out from his hiding place pinned him on his back across the table top. 

“I thought said no more games,” Crowley hissed, his deadly fangs glinting in the candlelight. “Yet here you are, playing hide and go seek.” 

“Please-” Aziraphale gasped, struggling against the demon’s iron grip.

“You’re not even a challenge, Aziraphale. Perhaps I should let you go again? Chase you down until you can’t run anymore.” Crowley's lips curled into a sardonic grin. "Want to play?" 

Aziraphale’s considerable strength was no match. As the demon’s sharp nails dug into the soft flesh of his throat, his vision began to go dark. There was only one thing left to do, lest he be discorporated... or worse. 

He snapped his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be four chapters in total but I won't be able to post the next update for at least a week, as I have another project I need to work on which is time sensitive.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Find me on [tumblr](https://redundant-angel.tumblr.com/)!


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